Chapter 10
For the first time in a very long time, Remy LeBeau was content. He was lying on his stomach on the sun-warmed wood of the dock, eyes closed, listening to the gentle lap of water beneath him. The sun on his bare back was just this side of hot, perfect for lazing in. For once, his head didn't hurt and the telepaths had decided to leave him alone. Jean and the Professor had been his constant shadows for the last three weeks, and although he appreciated their concern, the constant attention had been wearing very hard on his nerves.
His mutant power picked up motion well behind him. Someone was walking down the wide sloping lawn toward the lake. Someone female, with a light, graceful walk. That meant Ororo or Psylocke. Rogue's stride was more forceful, Jean's more straightforward. Remy sighed. The odds were fifty-fifty, at least, that it would be someone he would enjoy talking to.
He opened his eyes a fraction, letting the bright light leak in. Despite his sunglasses, the glare was painful. Because his eyes were black, they picked up more light than most people's. It gave him very good night sight, but also left him highly sensitive to bright lights and glare. When his eyes had first changed, it had seemed like the world's colors had suddenly become washed out versions of their former selves. It was something he had gotten used to, but he still made it a point not to go out in the sun without sunglasses if he could avoid it.
When his eyes had adjusted, he rolled over and sat up to meet his visitor. Unfortunately, it was Elizabeth. She was dressed down for once, in shorts and a plain T-shirt. She was even barefoot. It seemed like a deliberate effort to put Remy more at ease. Not that it was going to do much good. Remy watched her suspiciously. His shields were rebuilt, those heavy, reassuring walls that kept the rest of the world out of his head, but he wasn't about to put all of his trust in them. Elizabeth had shattered them once. He knew she could do so again.
His fingers brushed the small stash of cards he had with him as he stood. He hadn't expected to need ammunition for sunbathing. He studied Elizabeth as she approached. He would be able to feel it if she were probing him, but a surface scan... He deliberately took a second look at her. She was certainly a beautiful woman, exotic both for her Asian features and purple hair. Remy had always found her attractive; especially the sensual allure Kwannon's personality had given her. Kwannon, of course, had been far more interested in corrupting their oh-so-puritanical fearless leader than in someone as thoroughly corrupt as himself. But he had always wondered if there might not have been a few tricks she could have shown him-- and vice versa. Remy kept his grin to himself. Elizabeth definitely wasn't scanning him. She wouldn't have been able to completely hide her reaction to that particular line of thought.
"Hello, Remy." Elizabeth had stopped at the edge of the dock. She was trying not to alarm him. She was well beyond the range in which she could wield her psychic knife.
"What do y' want, 'Lisabeth?"
"I came to apologize." She met his gaze evenly, chin raised.
"What? It take you three weeks t' get 'round to it?" Remy had not actually been in the same room with her since the night she had attacked him.
Elizabeth's expression didn't change. "No. The Professor asked me to... keep my distance until your shields were back in place. Today is the first time he has felt it would not pose a risk-- for either of us."
Remy considered her. She was determined to confront him-- he could read that in the set of her shoulders and the defiant lift of her chin. But he couldn't tell if the hard exterior covered true regret or something else. If she really did want to apologize... he wasn't sure what to think. Elizabeth was a proud woman. For her to humble herself that much for the sake of someone like him... He held his tongue and waited for her to continue.
Elizabeth took a deep breath. "What I did was wrong, and I am very sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean to-- not like that, anyway." She shifted uncomfortably. "I was just afraid there was a Kwannon buried inside you."
"Kwannon?" Remy wasn't certain he was following this turn in the conversation.
Elizabeth nodded. "She was a part of me for a very long time, and there were a lot of things about her I liked and admired. But she was also an assassin. She enjoyed killing. If she had ever been completely in control of me, I might have killed people I care about. People in this house. Does that make any sense?" Her hard exterior had softened somewhat and she watched Remy with a mute appeal in her eyes.
"I t'ink so." Remy was finding it hard to hold on to his anger. It was obvious that she had only wanted to protect the people she loved. He was becoming hard pressed to say he wouldn't do the same thing if their situations had been reversed. As much as he hated what she had done, he had to admit he understood her reasons, maybe even agreed with them. He sighed.
"F'get about it, Betsy."
Hope flared in her eyes. "Are you sure...?"
"Oui. Dat's life, neh?"
"Yes." A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "Thank you." She turned to leave.
"'Lizabeth?"
She turned back to him. "What?"
"You keep dat knife o' yours shut down around me, hear?"
Her smile died. She nodded. She understood the warning. He was willing to forgive, but he wasn't going to give her another chance to stab him in the back.
With a last look in his direction, Elizabeth turned and walked back toward the house. Remy watched her go, knowing he wasn't going to be able to recapture his earlier peace. He considered lying back down in the sun, but abandoned the idea as hopeless. Eventually he wandered off, making sure to go a different direction from the one Elizabeth had taken.
#
Charles Xavier studied the chessboard before him with interest. It was not his turn, but he watched anyway, curious how the Witness would respond to his move. The danger room had been converted into a copy of Charles' study, complete with a window that mimicked the scene outside of the real one. Currently, a sliver of moonlight shone in on them, its light lost in the warm glow of the lamps.
Several of the X-men gathered around them, watching. It had become something of an evening habit, though Charles would never admit how much he was enjoying himself. He rarely found a challenging opponent for his favorite game. Still, the true purpose was to glean information from their odd visitor.
The Witness stirred, slid his bishop across the squares. Charles frowned. That bishop had been pressuring his queen. He did not immediately see the purpose in moving it. He studied the board until the reason became clear. The pattern the Witness was so carefully building would not coalesce for a while, but if it did, Charles would have little defense against it. He began working on a counter strategy to block the attack.
Henry McCoy cleared his throat. "So when did you take up this most august game?" He was looking at the Witness. "I am fairly sure our Gambit does not play."
The Witness smiled faintly. "No, he doesn't. Forge taught me... after de war."
"This human-mutant war you've mentioned?" Cyclops didn't quite keep the suspicion out of his voice. Besides Bishop, he was probably the most vocal about his mistrust of the Witness.
"Oui." The Witness' eyes never left the game board.
"Then Forge survived the war." Storm leaned forward in her chair. "Did anyone else?"
The Witness glanced at her. "A few, scattered across de globe. We didn' find anyone else from de original teams, but a couple o' de kids up in Boston survived."
"Who is 'we'?"
"Me, Forge, Cable an' Irish."
"Cable.." It was not really a comment, just a mother's reaction to hearing that her son had survived. Jean and Scott shared an indecipherable personal look.
The Witness seemed to understand their desire to hear more. He smiled. "He de one ended up in charge after Eric died."
"Eric? Magneto?" Charles abandoned his thoughts of chess.
The Witness surveyed them. "Maybe I start at de beginning, neh?"
Charles smiled. "That might be a good idea." His curiosity was piqued. He knew some of the history of the human-mutant war from Bishop, but he was very interested to hear about it from someone who, purportedly, had been there.
"First of all," the Witness began, "it wasn' officially a war f' almost four years. Jus' a mutant uprising, an' mostly jus' here in de States. But den a lot o' countries started adoptin' isolation policies-- puttin' mutants in camps or deportin' dem-- and de violence spread. We were fightin' t' liberate de camps and protect free mutants, but dere were a lot o' groups usin' terror tactics-- on both sides."
"Who's 'we'?" Henry adjusted his glasses.
"At de time, it was mostly de folks from X-force and X-factor, wit' a few extras thrown in. De Avengers were tangled up in legal stuff-- in prison, if I remember right.
"Den a bunch o' de first world countries-- de States, Europe, Japan, like dat-- formed somet'ing called de Human Consortium. Dey turn it into a war for real. Dey had de manpower, de weapons an' de organization... Woulda been over quick if Magneto hadn' stepped in. He turn a bunch o' factions, lots o' folks who used t' be enemies, into a mutant army. After dat, it jus' one big throw down."
"How long did it last?" Storm asked.
"Eight years."
"And where were you during all this?" Scott did not seem particularly impressed.
The Witness pinned him with a cold stare. Charles knew Scott well enough to know that it was taking everything he had not to back down under that gaze. Not that Charles blamed him. Even he found the Witness to be intimidating, at times.
"I spent a couple o' years runnin' ground operations against de Consortium down around de Carolinas. After dat, Eric figured my... particular... expertise would do more good f' de cause den anyt'ing I could accomplish in de field. I ended up doin' spy stuff. Espionage, sabotage, like dat. Weapons systems schematics an' codes, supply routes, battle plans-- anyt'ing dat could slow de Consortium down."
There was a short pause. Charles found himself chilled by the thought of just how dangerous a saboteur Gambit would probably be. He decided to change the subject.
"How did Magneto die?"
The Witness laughed, a hard, brittle sound. "Eric de one man I would have bet couldn' be suckered by a woman. But he was, an' she put a knife in his heart in de middle o' de night." He shrugged. "Took me three months t' track her down. She was a mutant, too." His gaze grew distant with the memory. Charles did not need to ask what had happened to her.
The Witness came back to himself and continued the story. "Cable took over after Eric died. He'd been in charge o' operations inside de States up t' dat point. But losin' Magneto hurt too much. Wit him, we maybe coulda won. Wit'out him we had t' settle f' a conditional surrender-- an' a treaty. Ev'rybody tired o' war by den.
"Basically, dey made mutants a separate nation, sort o' like de Native Americans were back when. Made us responsible f' creatin' a gov'ment f' ourselves. It was supposed t' be a trap. Mutants were supposed t' be completely separate from human laws-- so mutant kids couldn' go t' human schools, an' mutants couldn' be treated at human hospitals... It was supposed t' be a quiet way t'sink mutants into poverty-- an' slavery, though nobody ever woulda called it dat." The Witness' eyes burned with suppressed anger.
"What happened?" This was something Bishop had know nothing about. The history of the formation of the mutant government was shrouded in a great deal of mystery.
The Witness looked at Charles, stubborn defiance written in his expression. It was so much like an expression he had occasionally seen on Gambit's face that Charles was taken aback.
"We weren' about t' get beaten dat way," the Witness told him. "Dere were only de four of us left from de original teams, but we figured we were enough t' give mutants a fair chance. Cable was de leader-- ev'rybody knew him from de war. Dey respected him, dey'd listen t' him. Forge knew how t' run a gov'ment-- how t' set up social programs, start up an' staff de schools an' hospitals, an' Banshee knew how t' put together a law enforcement system."
"The X.S.E.?"
"Oui, Professor."
"What was your role in the new government?" Charles couldn't see Gambit as an administrator of any kind.
The Witness grinned at him. "My job was t' find de money t' make everyt'ing else happen."
Charles studied him, once again forced to re-evaluate this man. "I see."
Scott frowned in disapproval. "Do you really think that justifies you being a criminal?"
The Witness turned to Scott. "De issue was savin' what was left o' de mutant race. I don' particularly care if you t'ink what I did is justified or not."
"Good intentions don't give you the right to trample on people. Didn't you learn anything from the X-men?" The question was scathing. Jean put a placating hand on her husband's arm, but Scott's gaze remained fixed on the Witness.
Charles imagined he saw real anger burning in the Witness' eyes. "What I learned from de X-men... you never understand." For a moment, he seemed to feel the weight of his age and the proud carriage wilted a little.
Scott didn't notice. "Now wait a minute--!"
"Scott!" Jean's grip on her husband tightened.
Scott turned an accusing look on his wife. "Why are you defending him? He's admitted to being the head of an organized crime syndicate. How many people's lives do you think he's ruined?"
"Too many t' count," the Witness interjected calmly. His expression was unreadable.
"You sound like you're proud of it!"
"Not proud..." The Witness rose and walked over to the window, stared out at the moonlit grounds. "It was just de price had t' be paid."
Scott was furious. "And who made you God, to go deciding other peoples' fates for them?"
The Witness did not turn around. "Same person dat killed you an' y' wife an' y' chillen, Cyclops. De same person dat killed de X-men."
